"Such a charming lady as yourself could never be an interruption,” Mr. Dalrymple returned gallantly. As Kate reluctantly performed the introductions, he kissed the hand extended to him as the middle-aged spinster giggled like a deb.
Never one to shirk her self-appointed duty as village gossip, Miss Barbara wasted no time in coming to the heart of the matter. “Mr. Dalrymple, a little bird told me,” she peeked coquettishly over her fan, "That you were waylaid by the Grey Cavalier last night. So shocking!”
Here she paused for a moment to purse her lips and shake her head that the rascal was not rotting in chains at that very moment. It was a ritual much practiced in Oaksley by the more upright (or hypocritical) citizens, and prefaced many conversations regarding the Cavalier. Homage thus paid to morality and the law, Miss Radish felt free to discuss the Cavalier with a clear conscience.
“Do tell us, Mr. Dalrymple, is it true you were able to fight the villain off with only a hatpin? Did you really step in front of a blow meant for the poor coachman? Did the Cavalier turn tail and run away like the cowardly criminal he is?”
Kate listened to these idiocies with mounting ire. Beside her, Mr. Dalrymple’s shoulders were shaking with ill-concealed laughter.
“Modesty forbids me admitting to any of those things, madam,” he confided reluctantly, eyes carefully cast down with humility.
“Oh, for--I may be ill,” Kate muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” the warrior asked innocently. She glared at him.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Kate snapped her fan together. "The Cavalier is a gentleman!”
“Are you sure? As to his sex, I mean.” Mr. Dalrymple winked at the lace-trimmed woman taking up so much space in front of them.
Kate gasped. Miss Radish tittered gaily at his naughty joke. With a daring Kate had never known the spinster to possess, she tapped him on the wrist with her fan and rose in a swirl of lace and ruffles more suited to a girl in her first Season than a woman of two score and ten.
“Mr. Dalrymple, you are dreadful! I shall send over a jar of my special salve. Mother’s recipe. It never fails.” Chattering happily, Miss Radish left and was soon seen flitting from group to group, spreading the choice gossip.
Mr. Dalrymple smirked. “Perhaps I shall not need to impose upon your good nature after all, my lady.”
“I told you this morning, Mr. Dalrymple, I will not be blackmailed.”
"That was not blackmail, Lady Cava--Lady Katherine. Merely an opportunity for you to save your pretty neck.”
“Precisely what is the point of this conversation?” she snapped, eyes blazing.
"The point of this conversation was to make you angry enough so your eyes would glow like sapphires in the moonlight,” he murmured soulfully. Caught off guard, Kate gazed back, unable to look away. A tingle ran up her spine. A blush stole over her face. Then her common sense returned with a rush.
“My eyes are grey!”
Mr. Dalrymple grinned. "So they are. How very appropriate.”
Kate’s bosom swelled with indignation. “I would have you know that I have had sonnets written about my ears, odes to my eyelashes, and a limerick dedicated to my flame-like tresses--”
“You have?”
She shot him a look of utter loathing. “Most certainly. Do you believe your feeble attempts at flattery will grant you an introduction to my underworld connections?”
The man in black sobered. "This is no game for amateurs, Kate. I advise you to get out while you still can.”
"That’s 'Lady Katherine’ to you, and I’m no amateur. I’ll have that reward, see if I don’t. Besides,” she added sweetly, “how can I lead you to my felonious connections if I stay safely at home?”
Mr. Dalrymple grinned. "Touché. I’ll be sure to come to your hanging.”
“And I’ll see you in Hell.” Kate stalked away, his chuckle lingering in her ears long after he was out of earshot.
***
Two hours later, Kate gratefully accepted the hand of her oldest friend, Tom Appleby, for the quadrille. Hoyden she might be, but Kate would still rather dance than anything, including go on the bridle-lay. And it was a treat to be partnered by a gentleman who would not tread on her toes, gasp fragrantly into her face, or step-hop-step when he should be hop-step-hopping.
But it was poor Tom’s toes which suffered, for as they threaded their way down the line of couples, Kate overheard snatches of conversation which filled her with foreboding. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her fears. True to his plans, Mr. Dalrymple was holding court and learning more about the local geography than any local knew.
Right foot, chasse, chasse--
“—my boyhood fascination with the Royalists--”
Left foot, jete, assemble--
“--as a Catholic stronghold, there must be numerous hides hereabout--”
Changemont de jambe--
“--secret stairs and priest holes?”
Turn, turn, balancez a vos dames.
“--Wallingford Castle. That charming pile on the hill?”
Pirouette and crash! Kate whipped around to stare openmouthed at her nemesis, landing full tilt into Dr. Dogget, thus ending the set in good-natured disarray. Tom led Kate to the open window near the card room.
“Are you all right, my girl? It’s not like you to forget the figures of the dance.”
Kate barely heard him. Fanning herself vigorously, she faced the window. “Don’t look.”
Immediately, Tom looked over his shoulder.
“I said, don’t look!” she hissed.
“What’s this all about, then?”
“It’s that bounder, that cad, that--that toad!” Tom looked blank. Kate turned her head slightly and flicked her gaze in Mr. Dalrymple’s direction. Tom turned fully and examined him through his quizzing glass. Kate cast up her eyes in despair. “I said, don’t look.”
Tom shrugged and laughed. “Lord, is he what’s got you in a pucker? Kate, he’s no more than a dandy.”
“He’s not.” She looked casually right and left, then leaned closer to Tom. “He’s a spy sent here by the War Office and I need to get rid of him.”
"No.”
Surprised at his vehement tone, Kate stared up at him. “What do you mean, 'no’?”
“I mean no,” he stated firmly. “I will not help you kidnap a government agent. End of discussion.”
“But, Tom--”
"No.”
“Please, I need your help.”
"No.”
Kate glared at him, her mouth set. “One tiny favor, that’s all I ask--”
“Kate, your last "tiny favor’ cost me a broken leg and a whole quarter’s allowance.”
“You are my oldest, and dearest friend. The companion of my youth, and yet you refuse the one favor I beg--”
Tom grabbed her and pulled her hastily out to the balcony. He had no confidence whatsoever in Kate’s observing the proprieties in the ballroom, not when she had that devil-may-care gleam in her eye. “What sort of trouble are you in now?”
"None in the world.” She gazed innocently about, plying her fan.
“You never look innocent unless you’re up to something,” he informed her, undeceived. A thought struck him and he squirmed uncomfortably. “Is it money? Kate, let me give--”
"No! I will not borrow from you.”
“Very well, pay it back if you like.”
"There’s a great chance I may never be able to.”
Tom crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. Kate joined him. Together they stared out into the mild evening. In the distance stood a dark pile, which in the daylight would be the glorious ruins of Castle Wallingford.
“Are things so bad, then? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kate shook her head. "Not so bad anymore. We’ll pull through.”
Tom took a deep breath. He looked down at her. A gleam of light from the chandeliers peeked through the curtains and illuminated his face. His expression was tha
t of a man who knew his duty and would perform it, no matter how dismal.
“If we were married, there could be no objection to my helping you. The children need a father.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open. Tom squared his shoulders resolutely.
“Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage, Kate?”
A sudden rush of hot tears stung her eyes. Kate waited for the lump in her throat to ease, then turned to him, hands outstretched. “Oh, Tom,” she said, voice quavering. “You really are my dearest friend.”
He took her hands in his. “Well, that’s all right and tight, then,” he said with false heartiness.
“Wouldn’t we be the most unhappily married couple in England?”
“Yes,” he agreed fervently. “What I meant to say--”
“Please allow me to make you the happiest man alive,” Kate’s eyes twinkled, “by refusing your kind offer.”
Tom took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Kate laughed, the atmosphere easy once again.
"Now about that favor…”
He groaned. “All right, I’ll help you kidnap him. But I draw the line at murder, Kate.”
Kate slid a glance through the open doors to the opposite side of the room where Mr. Dalrymple held court. The dance was over and the couples were starting to drift to the supper room.
“Fiddle. This is a situation which calls for finesse. Who are you escorting to supper?”
“I thought we’d go down together.”
Kate shook her head as a scheme of such simplicity and brilliance sprang to her mind that for a moment it took her breath away. Such was the look on her face that across the room, Lady Alice wondered if her niece had received an offer from Tom Appleby at last.
“Excellent. Lucy is going in with Mr. Weilmunster. You part is to sit by her and engage her attention away from him.”
Looking slightly taken aback by the tameness of her scheme, Tom nodded. “What will you do?”
Kate burst out laughing. “Dear Tom, do you really care to know?”
He held out his arm to her. "No. I do not.”
***
Kate watched in fascinated revulsion as the loathsome Adam Weilmunster shoveled lobster patty after lobster patty into his mouth, stopping only to drop such pearls of wisdom as he considered appropriate into the conversation.
“I told Father Flannery that the idea of a pageant glorifying several of the seven deadly sins was abhorrent to any man of sense and breeding.” Chew, chew, swallow. “I feel certain you must agree with me, Vicar.” He bowed pondersously for a man of such youth in the direction of the reverend and took another bite of lobster.
"Nonsense, Mr. Weilmunster,” the Reverend Mr. Ramsdell replied heartily. "Neither the good Father nor I see the pageant as anything more than a bit of fun for the village and tourists alike.”
Kate watched his Mr. Weilmunster's Adam’s apple gyrate as he once more chew, chew, swallowed. Her eye automatically went to the table opposite, where Tom was entertaining Lucy. His glance met Kate’s and both turned away, turning laughs into coughs. Kate resolved in her determination to move heaven and earth to see Lucy married to someone worthy of her.
“As I have always said, revulsion of the Seven Deadly Sins must go hand in hand with obedience to the Ten Commandments for true piety.” He began to tick off the sins one by one. “For instance, pride, anger, envy, gluttony--”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Lucy glance her fiancé’s way. A flush stained her cheeks as she dropped hers eyes to her plate.
“--sloth, lust. Can anyone tell me the next?” he asked with heavy-handed humor, taking another patty.
“Boredom?” Kate asked, eyes wide with a look of such innocence anyone who knew her well would have been forewarned.
“You jest, Lady Katherine.” He turned to her and all the others at their table suddenly decided they needed more wine, or lobster patties, or conversation with someone at another table. There was a hurried exodus, leaving only Tom and Lucy at one end, and Kate and Mr. Weilmunster at the other.
“I have always decreed that a sense of humor, so rare in a woman, must be guarded lest it get out of hand into vulgarity.” He speared several more lobster patties onto his plate.
“Like gluttony.”
“Precisely,” he agreed. “Lady Katherine, Kate, if I may--”
Kate’s hackles rose at such familiarity, but she nodded.
“As I’m sure Lucy has told you, it is my fondest wish to be your brother very soon. By so doing, it shall be my honor to help relieve you of those burdens of family which no mere woman should have to bear alone.”
Kate smiled through gritted teeth. “My family could never be a burden.”
“If before that happy day arrives I can be of any assistance to you,” he blew lobster breath wetly into her face, “you have but to ask.”
At last! The opening she had been waiting for. “As a matter of fact,” she began, fanning herself, "there is a matter on which I should like your opinion, Mr. Weilmunster.”
He was so surprised he stopped with a lobster patty halfway to his mouth. Though his offer was kindly, if officiously meant, Lady Katherine--Kate had never made a secret of her unaccountable dislike of him. "There is?”
Kate bit her lip prettily. She dropped her gaze to her fan, then looked up into his face. He felt the full weight of her considerable Thoreau charm so that he actually put down the patty and turned his full attention to his future sister-in-law.
“Oh, Mr. Weilmunster, I--I simply don’t know where to turn. I fear a Terrible Suspicion has entered my heart.” She pressed her hand to her bosom. As bosoms went, it was by no means on par with Lucy’s, but it was nonetheless a bosom, and he was, after all, a man.
“I hardly know where to begin. Never would I want to unjustly accuse any man, but--”
“Yes, Kate?” he breathed excitedly.
“It was your discussion of the Seven Deadly Sins,” she told him piously, “which brought it to my attention. It is Mr. Dalrymple.”
“I understand from Auntie Alice he is a friend of yours from London.”
Nothing the reptile had said so far infuriated Kate as much as to hear him refer to Lady Alice in such a familiar way, but she swallowed her spleen. “Hardly a friend, though we did know one another. One meets all sorts at the very largest parties, as of course you know.”
Mr. Weilmunster thrust his chest out at her intimation he was acquainted with the ways of the ton. “Did he press his suit upon you unwillingly?”
“Yes, he did. Tell me, Mr. Weilmunster,” she leaned ever so slightly closer. “Do you feel as I do, that it is rather odd for a stranger in town to try so hard to discredit our Cavalier? In fact, if one was to take a look at him,” her companion craned his neck to take a gander at Mr. Dalrymple, happily holding court in the ballroom, “He really bears a striking resemblance to--
"The Cavalier!” He dropped his fork in excitement.
Kate pressed her advantage. “Imagine, three strong men, unable to subdue one paltry criminal? His story doesn’t quite add up, don’t you think?”
“I--I begin to see your point, Lady Katherine.” He looked wildly from her to the Cavalier in the next room.
“Kate, please.” She pressed his arm with the merest butterfly touch.
“Kate,” he agreed.
"The embodiment of all the Seven Deadly Sins, the Cavalier himself, is corrupting the morals of the youth of our village, Mr. Weilmunster. You must do something,” she told him thrillingly.
He looked down at her, his future sister-in-law, de facto head of the most noble line in the county. She looked back at him as if all the wisdom of Solomon would spill from his lips and lost what little wit he possessed. Truth be told, it was to be, had he but known it, his bravest hour. He pressed the hand on his arm, thrust away from the table, and strode into the next room. “I shall take care of this, Kate, have trust in me.”
Kate hurried to the doorway, unwilling to miss the
ensuing scene for all the five thousand pound rewards in the kingdom.
Adam Weilmunster strode to the middle of the room, pointed to the gentleman in black, and shouted, “You, sirrah! You are the Grey Cavalier!”
A collective gasp rang out. The musicians stopped tuning for the next set. All conversation ceased. The ladies even stopped plying their fans. No one wanted to miss the spectacle which was to come.
Mr. Dalrymple, meanwhile, watched in obvious stupefaction as his accuser continued his tirade.
“You, sirrah, have pulled the wool over our eyes, accepting the hospitality of our village, while secretly robbing us blind! Your cohorts in crime, paid with your ill-gotten gains, have promulgated your story of being held up! You, sirrah! I accuse you of violating of laws of man, and the laws of God!”
With that, he turned and ran up the stairs, calling loudly for constables! dragoons! Bow Street Runners!
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a buzz of noise rose higher and higher. Those in the supper room raced back to the ballroom, to pretend not to gaze at Mr. Dalrymple, and whisper behind fans and raised hands.
Meanwhile, the accused, stunned, glared at Kate, who smiled smugly and wiggled her fingers in his direction.
Constable Mackey stomped heavily down the stairs, followed by Mr. Weilmunster. The crowd parted swiftly, conversation ceasing once more.
The constable stopped in front of Mr. Dalrymple, standing beside his chair, miraculously restored to health.
“Mr. Frederick Dalrymple?”
The accused nodded stiffly.
The constable, clearly wishing he was anywhere but here, doing Adam Weilmunster’s bidding, pulled out a bit of paper. “Can you account for your whereabouts on any of these dates?”
Mr. Dalrymple shot Kate a look so black she stepped back, a thrill of apprehension rippling up her spine.
“Twenty-sixth April, eighth of May, twenty-second May, third June, seventeenth of July, four August, ten September?”
“On September 10, in that it was yesterday, I can safely say I was resident at the Lady and the Scamp. While out for an evening drive, my coach was waylaid by the ruffian called the Grey Cavalier. I was subsequently beaten and robbed,” he replied coldly. “As to the other dates, I could not say. My time is rarely my own.”
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 6
